Author's Note: Do you know how times are never good, and even breath-throughs don't mean change overnight? Too many fan fiction writers have this sudden revelation and think that everything gets better instantly. So Jareth's told Toby; so what? Well, we shall see. Things might not work yet. It's all up to the patient, really, isn't it?

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Morning; sunshine- a lot of reasons to get out of bed on a cold winter's day- but there really weren't that many as far as Jareth could see. He didn't know why he persisted in this farce; it was over. Toby knew. What difference did it make now?

He lay back against the satin pillows and winced as his mending bones healed. His right hand was almost knitted back to normal. The fingers were setting a little crooked, however, and he supposed that was because he was too weak for the fae side of him to bother overmuch with perfect physical appearances. The Gods knew he didn't care about anything any more. Except… well, it really was quite pleasant outside.

"I don't hate my life, Toby; I hate that what I am is dangerous to those I love."

No. He really didn't hate his life. Most of his life had had no real bearing on what he had become, anyway. Sure, his father had introduced him to the ecstasy of same sex couplings, but that didn't mean he enjoyed males any more or less. At ten, he'd had rather a large sneaking interest in his mother's clothes. Silk felt so inordinately good against his skin. And he'd adopted his own fluttery, feathery style without any help from anyone else, thank you very much.

Almost absently the Goblin King conjured up a crystal for the first time since his awakening and began to play with it, tossing it up and catching it again like a little boy with a ball.

He'd read a lot, he supposed, because he was lonely. But that meant nothing- he hadn't enjoyed playing with goblin children. Most goblins were too simple. And they had matured much slower than he had, so taunts and childish fun were very regular occurrences at his expense. He hadn't actually bothered. The more they teased, the more vigorously he indulged in what they teased him about. A self-destructive trait, his father had sternly told him.

The whispered remark of an old friend as they passed on the street; the sound of someone spitting at him when his back was turned; spinning on his heel and grabbing the male goblin by the neck and throwing him into the dirt. Even as a small-boned thirteen year old Jareth had been taller than most of them. A crystal in his hand- "You were saying, Brennan?"

"N-nothing, Jareth." The poor thing stuttering and stammering.

Raising a cool eyebrow. "Jareth? I was certain I was the King's consort, not a common peasant."

"Y- yes, Your Highness."

"Good."

Just for the sake of it- because he could- he'd called up the guards and had poor Brennan escorted to an oubliette for the rest of the day, making sure to release him by nightfall so no one could accuse him of cruelty- unfairness, yes, but not cruelty. No one had ever said a word to him about being 'ana guragh' (not born) or 'mennoque' (person involved in incest) ever again. It was just something that added to his legend.

He supposed it was quite flattering, really, that he was considered a living legend in most circles in the Underground. Not since his ancestor, Aidan, had there been a Goblin King held in such awe and respect. But he was tired of all of it. It was a cold place when he couldn't simply indulge his less fantastical whims and release a few pent-up emotions.

He was proud and arrogant and self-absorbed. He could do nothing about that, and wasn't looking to change. After all, he was proud of his station in life and his looks and his legend and mystery. He was proud that his consort was so controversial and yet such a prize. He was proud of his three proud and arrogantly beautiful children. He was proud of his connection with a power as ancient and vast as the Labyrinth. And yes, he believed his mind and his station set him apart from almost everyone else in his Kingdom and put him on a golden pedestal. But occasionally- just occasionally- he wanted to get down and stretch his legs with a little walk through the slums of the peasantry. Was that too much to ask?

So just why was he hiding in bed in his room, watching the sun rise and trying to rouse even the smallest spark of interest in something vaguely interesting? Of course, his mind put forth snidely, he could think of his son.

As usual, he almost shrank away from that thought. He didn't want to think about Aidan, was terrified that somehow that perfectly excusable pride in the boy's loveliness would translate into some kind of curiosity into just how pretty he was. And Aidan clearly adored him; he hung on his every word and did everything possible to spend time with him. It was a flattering situation and unfortunately Jareth's ability to express love and approval was rather sensual. He needed physical contact like a fish needed gills. All his life, he was used to hugging or touching or kissing those he loved- his mother, his father, Archer, Toby, his lovers… even Lord Pelinlas had been the subject of a few brief and furtive wonderings. He was a sensualist who had only ever learnt to relate through sex. How exactly was he supposed to respond to his son? And he refused to see Aidan get hurt.

No, death had been preferable to that. Toby would not leave now, however, so there was no need to fear that, was there? Well, there might have been, if it had been anyone aside from his elf. Toby was far too nice to do something like that for revenge.

The sun rose higher, beginning to pool on the carpeted floor and shine on the wood of the furnishing. The silver handles of the cupboards glinted in the strong light and he just knew that if he looked out of the window, he would see the Labyrinth and the Goblin City wreathed in white snow and yellow sunlight. A beautiful sight for a beautiful day.

And Toby hadn't entered his chamber yet. Nor had Lorelei or Fiorle.

The Goblin King gently flexed his bandaged shoulder and winced a little. Sitting in bed was not an appealing notion. Neither was living his life under this cloud. He could almost hate his bond mate for dragging him back to that when he'd almost managed to escape it, but he figured that it put them at evens- he had pulled Toby back from death by suicide; Toby had pulled him back from death by illness.

Getting out of bed was harder than he had thought, and a gruesome sight if he cared to look. His muscle had wasted with the long illness, leaving a skeletal look to his frame and his bones pushed against his skin in sharp relief. The bruises had mostly faded and his neck was as good as new. But he was careful on his trip to the bathroom.

But he did have to lean his forehead against the wall as he stood. For some reason standing made him nauseous. But once Jareth had finished and gotten into the bath, his head stopped spinning enough for him to relax. The water was no longer so hot and he was quite pleased to wonder whether his temperature had risen to a more acceptable level.

A good fifteen minute soak and a quick duck below the surface as he washed his hair and then he was out, yanking the towels from their racks to dry himself. The air was beginning to register as something that was cold. Clothes seemed the next viable option.

"Something simple," he muttered, strolling slowly into his closet and looking around with a frown. An old cream shirt caught his eye and he took the trouble to pull it on one-handed, doing up half the buttons and leaving the rest. He managed to get on a pair of blue trousers with a slight flare, laughing humorously to remember his days Aboveground. Unfortunately the buttons escaped his one-handed attempts to do them up.

Luckily the shadow across the floor told him someone had been standing there watching him for quite a while now and he turned his head to imperiously beckon them to him.

Toby obliged and seemed to have no complaints with the small task set to him. Though he would rather be pulling them down again; watching his husband dress had been a disturbingly erotic sight. And since Jareth wasn't pushing him away or exuding that coldness that usually meant he wished his bond mate in Jericho, Toby found himself actually running his hands over the bony hips in a loving caress.

"Glad you like them," Jareth commented ironically.

Toby looked up quickly, suspicious about the levels of mockery in the rough voice. But the mismatched eyes were only amused. Darker brown eyelashes were still wet and spiked, giving him a mascaraed look, with the bluish tint of his eyelids looking like someone had taken a make-up brush to him. And suddenly Toby wanted to see Jareth in make-up. He'd only seen that in his memories and…

"Want to play dress up?" he asked breathlessly.

Jareth raised a dark brow and took his turn to look suspicious. "What are you trying to do?" he sighed, "Is this an attempt to cheer me?"

Blond hair swung in the shadows as Toby shook his head. "Not an attempt to cheer you," he confessed, "Actually, just to let me indulge a whim."

"You're planning to use me for some project of yours?" Jareth asked dubiously.

The mortal blushed and looked through the selected finery until he came upon a long tunic that would reach mid-thigh. "Yes." Sifting through the collection of chiffon and silk scarves and finding nothing he quite liked. "Will- will you do it?"

Jareth leaned his good shoulder against the doorframe, his mind sharpening at this unexpected surprise. It wasn't every day that Toby rushed into something. "I am not sure. What will it entail?"

"You dressing as I want to see you. You don't have to parade or anything; just wear what I give you. It will probably look ridiculous, but I swear I won't laugh."

White fingers tapped against a thin, pursed mouth as the Goblin King pondered that. Did he really care even if Toby did laugh? Not really. And it would be something to do unless he wanted to stay in bed for the rest of the day. Lorelei had been pouring drugs and sleeping potions down his throat for so long now that it was a relief to be on his feet and operating under his own sluggish steam. "What the hell! What do you plan to do to me?"

"Well, first I want to undress you."

"Is this heading where I think it is? Because I really am not up to that… quite literally." Jareth looked pointedly down to the front of his breeches, smirking slightly when Toby rolled his eyes. Gods, it felt good to make snappish remarks!

"Outside," Toby pleaded, "This stuffy closet is not big enough for the both of us. Now come here and let me get that shirt off. No, put your hand down; it's not healed yet and your bones are still delicate. By the way, have you eaten today?"

His husband shook his head disinterestedly.

Toby smirked and stepped back. "Here," he said, handing over a crystal which turned into a peach into Jareth's hand, "Eat that."

Jareth looked from the peach to the smirking mortal and for one wild moment considered laughing. He smiled instead and bit into it, closing his eyes as the juice spurted over his tongue, tasting surprisingly less like cottonwool than he had expected. It was probably because of the prospect of something to do. So, feeling a little like his old self, he ate the peach and watched while he was gently disrobed.

And Toby was being very gentle. The skeletal look was astonishingly not a bad one for Jareth, though he could have wished his bones were less prominent. But seeing as how slender and delicate those bones were the painter in him was quite content. So he took the clothes off, pretended not to ogle and put them all away neatly.

"Cold?" he asked.

Jareth shook his head, too busy chewing to bother. What the Goblin King was, however, feeling, was actual interest. Not just in this mystery game of dress-up, but in the hungry look in Toby's eyes. He'd convinced himself that the little fire-blond would want nothing to do with him once he knew, but there was Toby- devouring his face with those blue eyes of his. A small debate was waging inside the half-goblin's head and the louder side won.

"Want a bite?" he asked casually, licking a dribble of juice off his arm.

Toby said nothing, but leaned forward and opened his mouth. Jareth put the peach to the wide mouth and held it while white teeth took a small nibble of the soft flesh. His interest gradually growing, Jareth leaned forward and flicked a small drop of moisture off the corner of the soft lips and held his finger out to licked clean. That done, he watched, fascinated, for the effect. Yes, Toby was definitely aroused.

And obviously trying very hard not to show it. "Are you done yet?"

"It's a big peach," Jareth remarked, sucking the last remains of the juice and fruit off the seed.

Toby's eyes went wide and then he turned, hurriedly picking up the tunic and smoothing it beneath his fingers as if it were an all important job. He refused to think that he wished that mouth was wrapped around any number of his body parts, but he still did have to plan that outfit. Maybe if the tunic was longer? He concentrated and used magic to adjust the length.

"I'm done," came softly from behind him and he turned in time to see a very naked Jareth sit down on the bed with a tired sigh and glance at him enquiringly. "Well? Am I to wear that?"

"Yup."

"You know my shoulder is broken, don't you."

"Oh. Here. I'll magic it on." Toby was actually surprised by just how good it looked. It was a deep almost royal blue with a low, wide v-neck that clearly showed off the half-goblin's shoulders. It clung, but not too tightly, leaving enough of a suggestion of subtler curves and lines to be discovered beneath. "Looks good," he commended.

"I know," Jareth answered, "I designed it. Now what?"

"What make-up did you usually wear?"

"Make-up?!" Clearly the Goblin King was shocked. "You're making me up? Why?"

Toby spread his hands. "I just want to. You're pretty."

"So I have been told. But no one usually colours my face because of that. Why make-up? I thought you liked your men… manly?"

A snort was his only answer. "My men? Man, darling, and so I warn you. Suck it up, glam boy; you turned me gay, anyway."

Jareth sighed and resigned himself to the inevitable. So it was one of Those Games again, like with the cuffs or the orders not to make a sound- all just a way of dominating someone else. It was an establishment of power, at least, by pushing him down into the trappings of a role that was not conventionally considered to be dominating. Ah well, he had had nothing better to do and had lousy taste in men as it was. Perhaps he should have gotten a queen. Which was ironic, since he was being transformed into a queen that very moment.

"What are you angry about now?" Toby questioned, sensing the discomfort and drop in energy. That, and Jareth had slumped somewhat. "I'm sorry for snapping, love, but it is sort of true."

"Yes, yes, I know- you don't like men," Jareth growled impatiently, waving a hand to stop the words, "So you tell me- does that make me a woman?"

Toby stopped himself from simply answering back in the same tone. It wouldn't do, he suspected. "Well, it makes you something beyond man or woman," he offered, "You're not female, but I don't just like you because you're male. You're just… well, you, I guess."

"Thank you. I suppose it would be enough."

"You don't have to be sarcastic; I'm trying to explain."

"Miserably as it turned out," Jareth finished. His chest hurt. And when he looked up, his bond mate had cocked his head like a little sparrow and was gazing at him with that maddeningly sympathetic expression. "Don't you dare pity me," he warned quietly.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Toby agreed, "Will you stand up for a moment? I want to put something on you."

"Handcuffs?" Jareth guessed angrily, standing up anyway with his arms out by his side in offering, "Collar? Chain? Shackle my ankles while you're at it."

"Stop being melodramatic! I just want to put a belt around your waist. If you don't like it, I'll take it off. Okay?"

Jareth huffed and turned away, striding away to the window and glaring moodily out at the snow. Yes, the Labyrinth and the Goblin City was covered in a thick layer of white snow and yellow sunshine, and yes, it looked beautiful. Hoggle was tramping through the snow in the garden, heading away from the Castle. Possibly to go home to his overworked wife and his mindless son, Jareth though spitefully, almost envying the simplicity of such a life. The touch of someone's hands on his waist nearly sent him tumbling out the window in shock.

Toby drew him away from the window and pushed him gently in front of the mirror. "What do you think? Too bright?"

Jareth just stared at the jewelled silver belt with hooded eyes. No, it wasn't too bright. No, it wasn't too big. Yes, it was just perfect. He hated it. And said so.

Toby only nodded and took it off, dropping it negligently on the floor and trying to think of something else. Hands on his hips, he bit his lip trying to concentrate on Jareth's waist and on nothing below that line. If he hadn't known better, he'd say that his bond mate was actually showing signs of experiencing anger. Which was impossible because he'd been so numbed for so long now. But there was that spark in his eyes that was oh-so familiar…

"For the love of all that is pure, stop! I don't want this!" Jareth barely repressed his anger from striking out at the little face with its dropped jaw. "You want me dressed as a female, then fine. Here!" He snatched up the belt and wrapped it around his waist, sliding the silver catch closed so that it hung low on his hips. Turning back to the mirror, he selected a pattern in his mind and then ran his palm down over his face, using magic to apply an instant coating of make-up. "Here! Is this enough? High heels? A handbag? I'm sure I can conjure up a pair of breasts if that will make you happy."

Toby took a hasty step back as Jareth proceeded to throw a crystal just passed his ear. It hadn't been aimed at him, but at nothing at all. Moving swiftly, he let Jareth have his way, only bringing up a protective shield around the both of them so that the screaming, shouting and crystal throwing would hurt neither of them.

It was awe-inspiring. He'd forgotten just how creative Jareth was with his magic. But when the bed was splintered in a pile of wood shavings and shredded cloth, it was then set on fire until the ashes could be swept up and scattered over the Bog of Eternal Stench he remembered. The mirror shattered- again- and the curtains were ripped into ribbons and strewn around the room. The carpet was yanked up in handfuls and the dresser exploded into nothingness. By the time the screaming at himself, Jareth's father and Archer had ended, Jareth had collapsed weakly to the floor- not crying, but shivering and exhausted with the weight of pent up emotions.

Toby didn't dare hold him, but he did dare to put his hand out and stroke the silver-blond hair. Jareth didn't stop him. So he sidled closer and stroked more firmly. He barely had time to register before Jareth had whipped around on his knees and latched firmly onto his hips, pulling him forward.

Toby barely opened his mouth to protest when his jeans were snapped open and then Jareth's mouth- that delicious, lipstick red mouth- was wrapped around him and the pressure, dear God, the suction! He yelped and tried to pull away. But the cruel fingers tightened on his hips and then one hand slid around to pull him even closer.

'This was what you wanted,' Jareth said in his mind, 'You wanted this.'

"No," Toby gasped, holding on for dear life, as his senses narrowed just to that cool, wet mouth, "Not like this."

'Look at me,' Jareth urged, 'you wanted me like this.'

Looking down at the blazing eyes with the silver and blue lids, the high cheekbones rouged and thinly drawn mouth painted scarlet. He looked like some kind of glorious painting, especially when he slid just the tip of his tongue out and tipped his defiant head back to Toby's stare.

'You wanted me on my knees. Just like everyone else.'

"No, I- I didn't…"

The tongue withdrew. The helpless anger intensified, this time added to bewilderment. 'Then what did you want? What am I to do? What do you want me to do?'

"I don't know…"

'Then how can I? I know nothing else. What else can I give you?'

"Get up." Urging Jareth to his feet so that at least he could have the comfort of his height. "Get up and talk to me. Use words. Please. Just talk to me!"

Jareth looked down at him and shook his head. "I don't have words," he whispered, "I can be a King and I can be a lover. You don't need a King and you don't want a lover."

"I need a husband."

The Goblin King flinched and dropped his hand. "I never quite liked the last time," he said evasively, "I don't think I could do that again."

"Jareth, you proposed to me. Remember? I begged you to take me back but you offered marriage. Why did you do that if you doubted what you could do?"

"Because I had Archer. I could talk to him." The poison was seeping back into his brain and he could feel the little electric trills along his nerve-endings. "He knew more about me than any living soul. And he had never offered me harm. As long as I had Archer I was safe. He took me down from trees and held me while the healer… did his task. He let me cry. He told me that it was all right to love. He told me again and again to stop going to my father's bed and I couldn't; it always felt so good and I couldn't. Archer…"

"Is dead. He betrayed you and you killed him," Toby said firmly, matching each pace that Jareth retreated with an advance.

"Do you think I don't know that?" The raw silk voice was back to barely repressed violence. "I went on my knees to him and I remember. But he put me in whore's clothes just as you do and you think I don't know why you're already half-hard?"

"No, you don't. I got hard watching you dress, not taking off your clothes," the mortal snapped, flushing slightly with mortification. He had hoped Jareth wouldn't notice but then the Goblin King always had known- every time. "I don't put you in whore's clothes. You wore a similar outfit when you lived Aboveground. In the seventies? England? Glam Rock, wasn't it? How could I forget! My mother adores her old records and I grew up listening to all of them- the Sweet, Gary Glitter, Elton John, T-Rex, Slade, Queen, the New York Dolls. Want more? What's so different now?"

"The difference was that, then, it was all a game. I wore what I wore because no one forced me. I had a choice."

"I gave you a choice too, Jareth."

They stared at each other, Jareth against the door, Toby a foot away. The distance was covered with two quick steps and Jareth could be left in no doubt of his options. He could reach for the handle- already his hand was on it- and he could leave this situation immediately. Or he could stay and work things out.

"You said you knew only sex," Toby reminded him, "Well, then, let's try what you're comfortable with first. If this doesn't work, I won't push you. If it does, we try things my way tomorrow and we talk. Deal?"

"It shouldn't work like that." 'I can't. Please don't make me.'

"I can, and it can." No other options. Toby wouldn't give him a way out of this. The silver and blue lids swept down as the Goblin King shut his eyes and then Toby looped his fingers through the belt and tugged, one hand clasping a handful of moon-blond hair as leverage. The head came down and cool red lips met his, caressing and biting in equal measures.

A swift motion and Jareth had traded places. The belt came in useful, though and Toby made full use of this perfect way to grind their bodies together.

'Harder' he moaned 'God, so hard!'

'Yes, I know. Why? Aren't you disgusted?'

"Should I be?" Toby asked aloud, his mouth freed as his neck was attacked.

'A tendency to incest is not something most people like in their partners,' Jareth replied. His lover whimpered as he bit at the skin over his jugular, feeling the blood pump faster at his touch. Small pants ruffled the hair on his own neck and he lifted his head, capturing Toby's mouth again. His hand encouraged Toby to lift one leg to his waist, held it for him with strength from the-Gods-knew-where as he began to rock in earnest. A tiny mewl as a particularly sensitive spot was rubbed and he tried it again, rejoicing in the same tiny soft sound.

'So? Not your fault. Oh yes, love, just there!'

Jareth growled in frustration. Having a conversation and having sex was too hard! No wonder he had never had conversations with his ex-lovers; he never waited around after he was satiated. Himself, he had his first alarming experience of being turned off. But his lover seemed to have no such problem, so he pushed his hand between their bodies and used that instead. The just mending bone protested the rough usage very loudly, causing him to bite down hard enough to leave a definite bruise.

The loud gasp of his name made him look up and take in the breath-stealing sight: electric blue eyes fixed desperately on his, the wide mouth swollen and red with kisses, the pink flush of orgasm on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose and ears, bright gold tumbling around his face to create the perfect frame to such a picture.

He propped the both of them against the door, leaning heavily on Toby as his own meagre strength gave out for a few minutes.

"Sorry," he apologized at length, "I do not know how…"

"It's okay. You didn't even have to," Toby panted, "Don't think I could have stopped but…"

"No, it is all right. I didn't mind."

"You hurt your hand though. May I see?" Toby asked, holding out his own hand for the bandaged limb.

Jareth hesitated for a minute and then gave it to him. He studied the down-turned face for a few minutes, noting that Toby had to blink a few times to get his dilated pupils to focus again. A golden flick of hair was in the mortal's face and he used his good hand to obligingly hold it away, barely hearing the murmur of thanks as he hissed at the slightly clumsy examination.

"Sorry," Toby sighed, "It's not broken again, thankfully. But you should rest it more. Taking a bath and dressing did no good. Giving me a hand job was worse." Blushing a little, he looked up to Jareth's silent eyes. "I'm sorry it didn't work. I understand if you want me to leave. I need to change anyway."

The way was clear. All he had to do was say something dismissive. But there was an odd residue in his mouth and Jareth was quite surprised to remember this taste from somewhere else. Life. Feelings tasted like this. And quite plainly he was still terrified. But it was still something to do. "I never asked you to leave. Come; I think I need shoes with this… dress. Do you agree?"

He swanned away to the window and didn't bother with the look of shock on Toby's face.